


In the Air

by wolfraven80



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfraven80/pseuds/wolfraven80
Summary: Cimorene and Mendanbar are making preparations for their fast-approaching wedding, but when a love potion goes awry Cimorene finds herself with an unwanted suitor. Set during the last chapter of book 2. Cimorene/Mendanbar with hints of Morwen/Telemain





	1. In Which Love Is In the Air and Causes a Great Deal of Coughing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/gifts).



> This is a treat for Syrena_of_the_lake. I've had this story rattling around in my brain for months but didn't have time to work on it. But I saw your request and that you're a fan of all the characters and so I figured I'd go for it and actually write it. So here you are--magical mishaps, romance, and humour. I hope you enjoy it!

            Cimorene was halfway across the castle courtyard when Willin caught up to her.

            “Princess Cimorene,” the elf said with a bow. “Where are you off to today?” He was pristine as always in a stiff white shirt with a gold collar, a fine green velvet coat, and white silk hose. She, on the other hand was looking very un-princess-like in a loose linen shirt, baggy black trousers, and a sturdy pair of leather boots.

            _Oh drat. I knew I should’ve used the invisibility spell._

            She put on her most polite smile. “Just out for a stroll.”

            Willin’s brow crinkled up and he reached into his coat to extract a scroll. Cimorene suppressed a groan. “But, princess, we still have a long list of items that need to be finalized before your wedding.”

            He began unrolling the scroll and Cimorene jumped in before he could start reading her each and every item on that list. “I’ve just spent the past three hours being measured and fitted and fretted over by a small army of seamstresses. I need some air.”

            Reluctantly, Willin rolled the scroll back up. “In that case, there’s a very fine path around the castle. If you continue along towards the far corner there you’ll get a fine view of the moat.”

            “And I could use a change of scenery,” she added. “I’m just going for a walk. I shouldn’t be long.”

            Willin scowled. “In the Enchanted Forest, there’s no such thing as ‘just a walk’.”

            “In that case,” Cimorene said, “I’ll go fetch my sword.”

            And she did just that, taking long strides which Willin simply could not match.

 

#

 

            Cimorene knew from experience that things in the Enchanted Forest were not always in the same place. The forest tended to shift around so that a waterfall that was in the north on one day, might be in the east the next. She’d noticed though, that since becoming engaged to Mendanbar, the forest had become less apt to shifting around when she moved through it, as if it sensed that she was soon to be Queen of the Enchanted Forest as if it were making an effort to be polite.

            She had been a princess for so long–whether she’d wanted to or not–that the thought of her new title still seemed a little peculiar to her, like the feeling of breaking in a new pair of boots. But it also made her smile very much indeed when she thought of just who she was going to marry to acquire that new title.

            After a quarter of an hour of walking, Cimorene stepped around a giant oak to find herself in a rocky clearing, in the centre of which was a large pool, the colour of poplar leaves and as still as glass. She knew this place well: the Green Glass Pool was a favourite spot of Mendanbar’s and he’d brought her here several times, including one night a few days ago so that she could see the starlight reflected in the pool, like a thousand tiny emeralds.

            The smile that had made its way to her lips at finding herself by the Green Glass Pool, vanished when she discovered that she was not the only one there.

            Even at a distance, Telemain’s figure was unmistakable: the vest with its pockets bulging with magical equipment and the sheathes and pouches on his wide black belt were a dead giveaway. In his hand, an instrument that looked like a cross between a pinwheel and a sieve spun in the breeze.

            Cimorene gave serious thought to turning around and heading back the way she’d come. Of course she was grateful for everything Telemain had done to help them in rescuing Kazul and dealing with the wizards, and, more recently for all he was doing to help Mendanbar with the wedding preparations. If only he would speak plainly! _If I have to hear one more incomprehensible lecture on weather-altering magic, I’m going to run all the way back to the Mountains of Morning._

            But Cimorene had been well brought up, and it really would be terribly rude not to say hello, so she took a deep breath and greeted him properly. “Hello, Telemain.”

            He spun around and blinked at her for a few seconds as if he weren’t quite sure whether she was real or a figment of his imagination. “Oh. Cimorene. Hello. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

            “I was out for a walk. But I don’t want to disturb you if you’re in the middle of something.”

            Much to Cimorene’s chagrin, Telemain shook his head. “Not at all. I was simply checking the aerodynamic ratios of the atmospheric matrix I’ve been preparing for the wedding.” He looked inordinately pleased–though about what, she wasn’t certain. Something to do with the weather, she thought. “The adjustments work most effectively if they’re made gradually so as to avoid any sudden disruptions to the matrix equilibrium.”

            “That’s... lovely,” was the best she could muster in response to that. The instrument in his hand–whatever it was–made an angry clicking sound and he studied at it with great intensity. Cimorene seized the opportunity. “I should let you get back to work. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

            “Oh of course,” he said vaguely, his eyes rivetted to the instrument. “Thank you, Cimorene.” And then he turned his attention fully to the device.

            Cimorene breathed a sigh of relief and headed back towards the woods, wondering if the forest had wanted her to check in on Telemain or if their meeting here was simply a coincidence. Her relief was short-lived. Before she’d taken more than two steps, a fully armoured knight stumbled through a clump of trees, very nearly tripping on a tangle of purplish vines that clutched at his ankles. He swung wildly at the brush with his sword and then, getting loose, clattered into the clearing, huffing and puffing.

            Knights were not at all uncommon in the Enchanted Forest. They tended to wander in on quests to fight trolls or visit the Pool of Gold and return with proof–that sort of thing. “Can I help you?” Cimorene asked.

            The knight raised his visor and stared at her for a moment, appearing confused–by her attire she supposed. He looked as if he’d travelled quite a distance to be here if the amount of dirt clinging to his armour was any indication. Finally he sheathed his sword and offered a stiff armour-clad bow. “Thank you, fair maiden. I am Sir Caramin. I have travelled far to reach the castle of the king of the Enchanted Forest.”

            Cimorene smiled politely. She’d had her fill of knights during her time as Kazul’s princess. “I’m headed there myself. I can show you the way if you’d like.”

            “Thank you, fair maiden.”

            “And please don’t call me that. I’m Princess Cimorene.”

            “You are?” He brightened considerably at this news. “Well that saves all sort of difficulty then.” He straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “Come with me, Princess. I have travelled far and braved many perils to rescue you.”

            “Rescue me?” Cimorene put her hands on her hips and scowled at the knight. “From what?”

            “From the King of the Enchanted Forest of course.” Cimorene’s jaw dropped but not a sound came out. Caramin took no notice–or simply mistook her bafflement overwhelming gratitude. “The wizard who visited the king’s court told us the whole story, how you were captured by a dragon and then how the evil magician who rules the forest took you from the dragon so he could claim the reward for rescuing you.” And then, pausing a moment to consider. “Half your kingdom, wasn’t it?”

            “A wizard, you said?” Cimorene crossed her arms, foot tapping a staccato rhythm on the stone beneath her boots. “His name didn’t happen to be Antorell, did it?”

            “You know him then? Wonderful! Now if you’ll just–” He reached out to take her hand and she stepped away.

            “I’m not going anywhere. I _chose_ to be Kazul’s princes and I _chose_ to stay in the Enchanted Forest. Mendanbar isn’t a magician, let alone an evil one, and we’re in the middle of planning our wedding.”

            “Oh bother,” Caramin mumbled and began searching through a pouch at his belt. “He did say you might be under an enchantment.”

            “An ench–”

            “Is everything all right, Cimorene?” She glanced over her shoulder to see Telemain coming to join them. His expression was a mix of curiosity and concern.

            Cimorene sniffed. “Antorell has been causing trouble again.”

            Caramin, hand still buried in the belt pouch, froze. “Are you a wizard too?”

            “No, of course not,” Telemain replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Wizards only use one type of magic, concentrated in their staffs. Their approach is fascinating but suffers from the limitations of being reliant on that staff for their magical enterprises. _I_ am a magician.”

            “A magician?” Caramin croaked, looking pale. His hand darted out from the belt pouch clutching a vial of orange fluid which he tossed at Telemain.

            Telemain’s hand shot up, palm outward. “Curmudgeonry!” There was a flash of light and when Cimorene’s vision cleared, the orange vial remained suspended in the air a few inches away from Telemain. He plucked it out of the air and inspected it. “Bottled will-o’-the-wisp. Highly flammable. Did Antorell give you this?”

            Caramin nodded dumbly, looking like, at any moment, he might consider a strategic retreat.

            Cimorene cast Telemain a puzzled glance. “Curmudgeonry?”

            He’d gone back to inspecting the bottle but then placed it in one of his many pocket and turned his attention to Cimorene. “It’s a trigger word for a pre-prepared spell. The trigger has to be something the user doesn’t employ is regular conversation.”

            “I see.”

            During this exchange, Caramin had fished a second vial out of his belt pouch, this one containing a lavender powder. He did not throw this one, but with his free hand drew his sword. “I will fight you to the death, King Mendanbar, and break the enchantment you’ve placed on Princess Cimorene.”

            “Mendanbar?” Telemain echoed, looking confounded rather than alarmed.

            “I am _not_ under an enchantment,” Cimorene snarled. “And he is most certainly _not_ Mendanbar.”

            Caramin’s gaze flitted from Cimorene to Telemain and back again. “He’s... not?”

            “Perhaps we should discuss this matter,” Telemain said, inching forward, palm raised–probably in case he needed to cast another quick spell, Cimorene thought. But this only seemed to distress the knight further, for as Telemain moved, Caramin started.

            Two things happened then which, had they occurred independently, would have been innocuous, but, when they happened simultaneously, proved disastrous.

            Startled, Caramin dropped the vile in his hand just as Telemain was stepping forward. It rolled under the magician’s upraised boot, just as that boot came down. The vial shattered. Telemain was engulfed in a cloud of lavender smoke. Cimorene and the knight both leaped back.

            “Oh bother,” Caramin muttered. “The wizard said that one was to disenchant you.”

            Wrapped in the cloud of purple smoke, Telemain began coughing and Cimorene was torn between trying to help him and preventing any more attempted rescuing by the knight. She  swivelled on Caramin and this time it was she who drew her sword. “I am not enchanted. Now tell me what that powder does.”

            Caramin shrugged helplessly. “It... disenchants.”

            The coughing subsided and was followed by a thud but she could still not see Telemain through the smoke. An alarming clatter a moment later signalled Caramin’s hasty retreat back into the woods. With an annoyed glare at his retreating form, Cimorene sheathed her sword. The smoke had begun to subside and she could see Telemain lying on the rocky ground. Before approaching, though, she took one of the handkerchiefs from her pocket and used it to cover her mouth and nose, just to be safe. She knelt down next to Telemain’s prone form and gave his shoulder a firm shake. “Telemain. Telemain, are you all right?” She was relieved when, a moment later, he groaned in response. After another minute he opened his eyes and blinked at her as if trying to clear them. “Oh good. I was worried I’d have to go fetch help. Can you stand?”

            “I think so.”

            She took hold of his arm to steady him as he got to his feet. He looked none the worse for wear but she still didn’t know what that lavender powder might have done. If it really was only meant to disenchant then it wouldn’t have had any effect, but why would Antorell give the knight a disenchantment powder when he knew Cimorene wasn’t enchanted?

            “How do you feel?” Cimorene asked. The smoke was well and truly gone so she folded up her handkerchief and put it back in her pocket.

            “I’m quite well. Thank you for your assistance. My name is Telemain,” he said with a bow. And then he took her hand and smiled at her. “Might I ask for your name?”

            Cimorene tugged her hand free. “I’m Cimorene. Don’t you remember?”

            His eyebrows shot up. “Your name is Cimorene? Quite the coincidence. I know a Princess Cimorene.”

            “I _am_ Princess Cimorene. Telemain, what is wrong with you?”

            Telemain began stroking his beard, his brow slightly furrowed. “Two Princess Cimorenes. That’s quite extraordinary.” He gave himself a shake and smiled at her again. “Thank you again for your assistance. I seem to have had a slight mishap while working on a spell.”

            Cimorene stared at him. “Mishap? Don’t you remember the knight?”

            “Knight?” Telemain’s brow crinkled as if he were thinking very hard. “Was he trying to rescue you?” He looked around at the green pool and the now empty clearing, but of course there was no knight to be seen.

            “Something like that.”

            “The forest can be quite... unpredictable. Perhaps I could escort you somewhere?” He offered his arm. Cimorene took a step back. “Do you live nearby?”

            “Yes. I live at the castle now.”

            “Mendanbar’s castle?”

            “Yes! Don’t you remember? Mendanbar and I are getting married.”

            He blinked at her for a moment and then his expression turned to one of pity. “I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but Mendanbar is engaged to be married to Princess Cimorene.”

            “I _am_ Princess Cimorene.”

            “No I mean the other Princess Cimorene.”

            “But I _am_ –” And then she thought better of it. That lavender powder certainly hadn’t been for _dis_ enchanting. She needed someone with more magical expertise than she had–and Telemain was not in a position to help in this case. “Never mind. Let’s go back to the castle.”

            “As you wish, my dear.”

            “I am not your dear,” she snapped.

            For a few seconds he bore a striking resemblance to a puppy that had had one of its paws trod upon. But then he smiled again. “As you wish, Cimorene.” And Cimorene began to wish she’d taken Willin’s advice and gone on the walk with the good view of the castle moat.


	2. In Which Gargoyles and Cats Offer Useful Suggestions

            “I didn’t know what else to do,” Cimorene said once she finished relating the events by the Green Glass Pool. Long legs stretched out beneath the battered oak desk in his study, Mendanbar looked relaxed, but the slight crinkle around his grey eyes told her otherwise. He was concerned. That meant this was probably serious. “I would have asked Morwen, but she’s visiting Kazul and I know she won’t be back until this evening.”

            Mendanbar nodded. “If it’s an outside enchantment I may not be able to do much about it. But send him in and I’ll take a look.”

            Cackling filled the room coming from above them. “This’ll be good,” said the wooden gargoyle in the corner.

            Mendanbar cast the gargoyle a baleful glance. “Or we could do this in another room instead.”

            The gargoyle snorted. “I’m entitled to a little fun after you let those two study those wizard staffs right under my nose. Do you know what it was like having him in here with that witch Morwen? Arguing over everything, experimenting–I thought they were going to set me on fire five or six times.”

            “Pity they didn’t,” Mendanbar grumbled.

            “Oh hush,” Cimorene said, looking from one to the other.

            Mendanbar sighed. “Let’s invite him in and get this over with.”

            “Hold on. I want to hear what he has to say but... well I’d really rather he not see me.” It had been quite a while since she’d performed the invisibility spell, but she was happy to find she could still manage it. “I’ll just say in the corner and listen in.”

            Heaving a weary sigh, Mendanbar got to his feet and opened the door to his study. “Telemain, come in.” The magician followed him back into the room and Mendanbar waved towards one of the chairs. Telemain pulled up a solid, thinly-padded chair and sat down across from Mendanbar. “So I hear you had an adventure this morning.”

            Telemain stroke his beard. “I wouldn’t say an adventure precisely as that would involve a good deal more action. I simply had a mishap involving an ill-informed knight. I did meet a lovely girl as a result, though, so it was a rather fortunate accident.” And then he began smiling with a sort of giddiness that she could not reconcile with the Telemain she’d come to know over the past weeks. The closest she’d seen was a sort of exuberant glow that had seemed to emanate from him when he’d announced some of the progress he and Morwen had made while studying the wizard staffs.

            “I see,” Mendanbar said, his tone exceedingly neutral. “And who was this girl?”

            “Her name is Cimorene,” Telemain said. And then, very quickly, “Not your Cimorene of course. You’d never mistake the two if you saw them.”

            Mendanbar raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

            “Certainly,” Telemain said with a nod. “My Cimorene–” and Cimorene, invisible in her corner winced at this name, “is much shorter and she has ginger hair, not black. And she wears glasses.”

            “Hey,” the gargoyle said from above, “doesn’t that sound a lot like Mor–”

            “More to the point... She said she was staying at the castle. Do you know her?” Telemain asked and the eagerness in his tone was unmistakable.

            Mendanbar waved a hand vaguely. “We have so many people coming and going lately I can hardly keep track. I could ask Willin to look into it, though.”

            “I would appreciate that. I’m eager to see her again. She was delightful.” His eyes glazed over and he sat there for several seconds, smiling to himself as if their two and a half minutes of conversation had been the high point of his life.

            Looking rather uncomfortable, Mendanbar cleared his throat. “How is the weather magic coming along?”

            “Hmm? Oh the weather.” Telemain snapped to attention. “The atmospheric matrix is stabilizing nicely. In fact–”

            The technical explanation went on so long the Cimorene began to regret her plan to listen in, but at least she’d learned what she needed to. His behaviour was normal–normal for Telemain anyway–except in regards to her.

            After an altogether too jargon-filled chat, Mendanbar announced that he had some things to attend to and asked Telemain if he could remain at the castle a while longer. Telemain agreed eagerly. “Perhaps I can discover some information about this other Cimorene,” he said and positively skipped out of the room. If, instead of her name, he had used some magical theory terminology she wouldn’t have thought twice about his enthusiasm, but as it was...

            The moment the door shut behind Telemain, the gargoyle began to cackle with obvious delight. Mendanbar scowled at it. And then, glancing towards the corner where Cimorene was standing, “You can come out now.”

            She nodded–and then remembered that he couldn’t see her. “I’ll have it off in a moment.” The invisibility spell would eventually wear off on its own, but it would be rather awkward for Mendanbar to have a chat with her while she was transparent, though she was certain the wooden gargoyle would have found it amusing.

 

            _“Sight unseen,_

_Be as you’ve been.”_

 

            As soon as she’d chanted the couplet, the spell was lifted; she could tell by the broad smile on Mendanbar’s face. “Lovely to see you,” he said and she might have kissed him on the spot were it not for the leering gargoyle.

            “What do you think?” she asked instead. “About Telemain, I mean?”

            “Oh it’s definitely a spell. A love spell.”

            Cimorene sighed. “I was afraid of that. Is there anything you can do?”

            “No. This is more Morwen’s line of work–or Telemain’s but I don’t think he can disenchant himself.”

            “Pity. I liked him better when all he did was talk about magic.”

            Mendenbar grimaced. “And you said this Sir Caramin got the vials from Antorell?”

            “Yes. And that the one he used on Telemain was meant for me.” The very thought left her seething.

            “He must have planned for you to run away with Sir Caramin.”

            “That dirty sneak of a wizard. The next time I see him I’m going to soak him in so much soapy water that he won’t unmelt for a month.”

            “Not if I find him first,” Mendanbar said darkly, and she didn’t ask what _he_ would do if he found the wizard.

            They discussed the matter for a while longer, but in the end the best plan they could come up with was for her and Telemain to go to Morwen’s while Mendanbar searched for the knight. “I want to make sure Antorell didn’t give him anything else. But you could stay at the castle and–”

            “No,” she said placing a finger over his lips. “I couldn’t. I need to tell Morwen what happened. And she really should see the... effects... of the spell for herself.”

            “ _Cimorene_.” He said it that way because she was right and he knew it.

            “If you wanted a princess who would take orders, you certainly made the wrong choice.”

            That stopped him. Smiling (a little sheepishly), he clasped her hand in his and held it over his heart. “I couldn’t have made a better choice.”

            Choking sounds filled the air above them and they both glanced up at the gargoyle. “I can’t take all this mushy stuff. You’re going to make my wood rot.”

            And, with a wry smile, Mendanbar offered Cimorene his arm and together they walked out of his study.

 

#

 

            It was evening when Cimorene and Telemain arrived at Morwen’s. Normally the small neat cottage with its wide front porch and red roof brought a smile to Cimorene’s lips. Today, though, all she could do was hurry towards the front door before Telemain could accost her. He’d been surprised to find that she knew Morwen, but thrilled to do the transportation spell if it would be of service to her.

            There were no cats on the porch or on the windowsill so Cimorene resorted to knocking furiously on the door. She hoped they hadn’t arrived before Morwen had returned. That would be very bad indeed. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could endure Telemain in his current state. He’d already announced that she was lovely, had a soothing voice (like the call of an Abyssinian lark–whatever that was), was exceedingly sensible in her choice of footwear, that her glasses brought out the green tones of her hazel eyes (though Cimorene had neither glasses nor hazel eyes), and that her (red) hair was done up in a very fetching manner.

            She was still knocking when Telemain joined her on the porch. “I realize this is very sudden,” he said with great seriousness, “but I feel an inexplicable connection to you.”

            “It’s not inexplicable at all,” Cimorene snapped, still knocking on the door. “It’s a spell!”

            She heard footsteps from inside and finally stopped knocking. That was a mistake. Telemain snatched up her hand and clasped it in both of his. “Please,” he said dolefully, gazing at her with his bright blue eyes. “I only ask for an opportunity to become better acquainted with you.”

            It was at that moment that the door swung open. Morwen blinked several times at the peculiar tableau she found there, and Cimorene could see her jaw tighten.

            “Morwen! Thank goodness!” Cimorene said, trying–and failing–to sound calm and collected. “You have to fix him.”

            Morwen stared for another few seconds and then, “You’d better come in and tell me what’s happened.”

            Cimorene disengaged herself from Telemain and entered the cottage. Telemain’s gaze never left her.

            “Hello, Telemain,” Morwen said finally.

            He started as if he’s not even realized she was there. “Oh, Morwen. Hello.” And then he went back to gazing at Cimorene.

            One of the cats, a long-haired tabby, sidled up to Morwen. “ _Mrowww_.”

            Morwen glanced down. “Yes, I can see that he’s under a spell.”

            “ _Mrr_.”

            “No, I don’t think turning him into a toad would help.” The cat’s tail twitched and then he ambled off as if to say that if she didn’t want his advice then he needn’t stay around.

            Morwen had them all sit down around the table and served cider, which Cimorne sipped as she recounted the day’s events, and Telemain ignored as he stared at Cimorene with rapt attention. Several times he interrupted to compliment her voice, her poise, or her narrative skill. Morwen’s scowl grew deeper with every interjection.

            Coming to the end of her story, Cimorene sighed. “Can you do something?”

            “Certainly, but I need to know a bit more about the spell. You said it was a lavender powder in a vial?”

            Cimorene nodded. “I didn’t get a very good look at it beforehand, but it turned into a thick, grainy smoke. Wizards don’t normally use powders and vials for their magic, do they?”

            “No,” Morwen agreed, “they don’t. It’s likely Antorell acquired it from another source–possibly a witch–which means it’s probably more effective than any spell he could have produced on his own.” She turned her attention to the moon-eyed magician. “Telemain.” He didn’t even look in her direction. “Telemain.” And this time when she received no response she glanced in the direction of the long-haired tabby on a bench nearby. “Chaos, if you please...” The cat jumped down from his perch and, coming to the table, reached up and began to sharpen his claws on Telemain’s leg. Telemain yelped and frowned down at the cat.

            “Now, Telemain,” Morwen began. Telemain, rubbing his punctured leg, finally looked up at her. “I need to do a test.” She pulled a ball of red yarn out of her enchanted sleeve.

            Telemain bristled, crossing his arms and frowning at her. “A test for what?”

            “For enchantments.”

            He huffed. “Do you think that I can’t even tell if I’m under the effect of a spell?”

            Morwen shook her head. “Nonsense. A great many enchantments are undetectable to the person affected by them.”

            “This is because of Cimorene, isn’t it?” His tone was sharp, and Cimorene realize that although she had heard Telemain and Morwen arguing frequently at the castle during their study of the wizard staffs they’d recovered, she’d never heard him sound truly angry. “Do you think I’m so completely dedicated to my research that I’m actually _incapable_ of falling in love?”

            For a moment Morwen looked.... hurt, Cimorene thought, but the expression flashed so briefly across her features that she couldn’t be certain. Morwen collected herself and replied very calmly. “No. Of course not. But you were subjected to a magical attack of unknown properties. It’s only sensible to take a few precautions to be certain that there aren’t any side effects. Wouldn’t you agree?”

            Finally he let out a breath and nodded. “Very well. Just as a precaution.”

            Morwen drew out a thread of red yarn and dangled it in front of Telemain as she chanted.

           

_“Fast and flowing, show me._

_Blue and blustery, show me._

_Quick and clever, show me._

_Light and shimmering, show me what his eyes see.”_

            As she spoke the last word, Telemain’s eyes began to glow, his irises cycling through shades of lavender to pink and then deepening to orange and finally red. Morwen’s lips thinned to a line. She rolled up the string and, when Telemain blinked, his eyes returned to their normal bright blue. Unfortunately, a not-so-normal grin spread over his features as he laid eyes on Cimorene.

            Morwen rolled her eyes. “Telemain,” she said. “Cimorene was just telling me that she was hoping for the chance to read a particular book in my library. The _Chronicles of Toreenan_. Do you think you could find it for her?”

            “Of course!” He leaped to his feet. “I’d be delighted. I’ll have the book for you right away, my dear.”

            “I’m not your–” But he’d already dashed across the room and through the magic door to the library before Cimorene got the entire sentence out. She sighed. “How long will it take him to find the book?”

            “Quite a bit,” Morwen said, lips quirked. “Since it’s in my bedroom and not in the library.”

            “That’s a relief.” She took a long drink, finishing the cider, and sank back in her chair. “And here I thought the knights trying to rescue me were a nuisance, but Telemain seems to be immune to discouragement.”

            “It’s the effect of spell,” Morwen said. She rose and, moving to the small iron stove in the corner, began preparing a pot of tea. “The way it works is that it blinds you to someone’s flaws and makes you see them as you’d wish them to be.”

            Cimorene’s brow creased. “That isn’t love at all. That’s just... Foolishness.”

            “True,” Morwen said, “but there isn’t much market for ‘infatuation potions’. Love potions on the other hand are quite traditional even if the name is somewhat misleading.”

            For another minute Cimorene watched as Morwen busied herself in the kitchen. She knew Morwen and Telemain were old friends and his current un-Telemain-like behaviour must be difficult to bear for Morwen as well. “There’s one thing I don’t understand... Why does he think I’m a different Cimorene? Even though I keep trying to tell him I’m me.”

            Carefully, Morwen placed a steaming pot of tea on the table. She poured them each a cup, offering Cimorene the honey, which she knew she liked in her tea, and then sat down. “These sorts of spells can’t make you act against your character. You’re engaged to Mendanbar, so as far as Telemain is concerned, you’re off-limits. So, for the spell to work, it has to make him see someone else–some other Cimorene who isn’t engaged.” Morwen paused to take a sip of tea. “If he were an evil magician or a wizard, it wouldn’t matter.”

            Cimorene nodded and then, after a moment’s thought, “Telemain is very good, isn’t he?”

            Morwen’s lips curled into a tiny smile. “Yes. In spite of his very many flaws, he is.”

            On such a trying day, the sweet tea was a comfort, and Cimorene sipped it gratefully. “What would have happened if I’d been the one to breathe in the purple smoke?”

            Setting down her tea cup, Morwen considered this for a moment. “Most likely the spell would have caused you to think the knight was Mendanbar and that he wanted you to elope with him. That was probably Antorell’s plan.”

            Cimorene’s chest clenched at the thought, that a spell could make her believe someone else was Mendanbar. “But you can undo the enchantment?”

            It was now Morwen’s turn to heave a sigh. “I can do the initial preparations, but I won’t be able to complete the spell tonight.”

            Dread began to settle into the pit of Cimorene’s stomach. “Why’s that?”

            “In order to completely rid Telemain of the effects of the spell, he has to be doused with coursing water.”

            “You mean we need to dunk him in a river?”

            “Essentially.”

            A ginger cat approached and, with a faint purr, rubbed herself on Cimorene’s ankles. Cimorene stroked her sleek fur, finding it almost as comforting as the tea. “Are you sure we can’t just pour a bucket of water over him?”

            Morwen grimaced. “If I thought it would work, I would the empty the bucket myself.” She glanced in the direction of her magic door which led to (among other places) the library. “No, I’m afraid he’s going to be like this until tomorrow.”


	3. In Which a Great Many People Get Wet

            The next day, Cimorene arrived early at Morwen’s, partly to assist with Morwen’s spell preparation, but mostly to get away from Telemain.

            “He’s worse than the knights,” Cimorene said as she sat at Morwen’s table grinding oxslips with a mortar and pestle.

            Over by the stove, Morwen was adding horsefeathers to a pot of boiling water. “It can’t be that bad,” she said without looking up.

            “He was there the moment I stepped outside. I’m not even certain he went home last night. He’s always in the same clothes so I couldn’t tell.”

            Morwen laughed. “He has a wardrobe filled with identical shirts and vests. I haven’t seen him in anything else since he was boy. But it’s very practical in our line of work.”

            “Because dark clothes don’t stain?” Cimorene inspected the oxslips and, after careful consideration, resumed grinding them.

            “Yes exactly. When you’re preparing spells or gathering ingredients you’re likely to get dripped on or splashed by all manner of things. It’s worse for magicians since they’re more likely to work with substances that can eat through materials or leave them badly singed.” She paused as if recalling a particular example. “Believe me, it happens quite frequently to magicians.”

            Cimorene frowned at the contents of the pestle. “He showered me with rose petals. And I do mean showered–he made it _rain_ rose petals.” A great deal of clattering followed from the kitchen. “And then he gave me a bouquet and went on to list the properties of each flower and what some of their uses were.” She sighed. “I learned that moon thistle can be used to repel gremlins so I should at least be grateful for that.”

            “That’s very like him.” And at that, Cimorene glanced up and, for some moments, observed Morwen who, with great determination, was stirring the frothing yellow concoction on her stove.

            “Morwen, when you were younger did Telemain ever...”

            Morwen’s lips thinned to a line, her eyes fixed on the contents of the pot. “No. No of course not. Telemain’s true love is magic. Even when he was younger he was always too busy with his studies to be interested in much else. Is the oxlips powder ready?”

            “Yes, I think so.” Cimorene brought the pestle over to the stove. Morwen gave a nod and Cimorene added it to the pot. “He also wrote this.” Cimorene extracted from her pocket a piece of paper with Telemain’s script.

 

            _Like interlocked gears,_

_Your voice to my ears,_

_Prompts my heart to turn round,_

_Like a watch that is wound._

 

            Morwen eyed the poem’s first stanza–there was more. “Oh dear. He’s accustomed to writing verse for spells.” The mixture in the pot bubbled and hissed with apparent disapproval. “We just need to add the heartsease now.” With great care, she dropped one of the dried purple flowers into the bubbling mixture. A hiss and then a wisp of smoke rising from the pot and the mixture turned from yellow to fuchsia. “We’re ready now.” Morwen glowered at the pot. “You’d best call him in, Cimorene. He’s taken to ignoring me.” And it was clear from Morwen’s tone just how much that annoyed her.

            Cimorene crossed the room to the magic door and concentrated on the library before pushing the door open. Though on occasion it could be temperamental and instead lead to one of the spare bedrooms or the backyard, today it swung in to reveal the library on the first try. “Telemain, could you help us with something?”

            He positively bounded to the door, looking as bright-eyed and eager as a dog waiting to play fetch. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging, Cimorene thought, though she knew it wasn’t his fault. _When I get my hands on Antorell–and that bothersome knight!_

            Telemain beamed at her. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

            “First of all you can stop calling me that. Second, please come out here.”

            He did as she asked. “I’m afraid I haven’t been able to locate that book,” he said with chagrin.

            “Never mind that,” Cimroene said. “Just stand there.” She pointed to the middle of the floor. “And close your eyes.” For a few seconds he looked puzzled but he did exactly as she asked.

            Morwen began sprinkling red rose petals in a circle around Telemain. When she was done, she dipped a ladle into the pot of fuchsia goo and then, returning to him, stepped into the circle. She dipped her thumb into the ladle and then reached up towards Telemain. Eyes snapping open, he caught her wrist. “Morwen? What is going on? It appears to me that you’re attempting to perform some sort of unidirectional cleansing enchantment based on sympathetic resonance principles.”

            She looked up into his frowning face. “Telemain, you’ve known me a very long time. In all those years, have I ever led you astray?”

            He appeared to consider the matter carefully. “Not that I can recall. However, that does not mean–”

            “You need to trust me.”

            He continued to look uncertain and finally Morwen sighed and glanced over at Cimorene, gesturing at him.

            “Please, Telemain,” Cimorene said. And that was all it took. Immediately he closed his eyes and released Morwen’s arm. Once again, Cimorene saw a flash of something on Morwen’s features, disappointment perhaps, but then it was gone.

            Morwen dipped her thumb into the ladle and then, reaching up, drew it across Telemain’s eyelids so that they were each covered with the fuchsia goo. She stepped out the circle and chanted.

 

_“As the waters that stream,_

_Let his eyes be clean.”_

 

            Telemain’s eyes sprang open again. “Wasn’t that–”

            Cimorene stepped forward. “Would you like to join us for a walk, Telemain?”

            He brightened and an absurdly broad smile appeared on his face. “Of course, dear Cimorene.” And then, pausing for a second, his brow crinkling. “Us?”

            She handed Morwen one of her handkerchiefs so she could clean off the spell goo. “Me and Morwen.”

            “Oh but...”

            “Well that’s settled,” Cimorene announced. She could not get out the door fast enough.

 

#

 

            The Waterfall of Spring was named so because eternal spring reigned in that small corner of the Enchanted Forest. This spot had been Morwen’s suggestion. The waterfall tumbled into a pool below that was free of anything likely to nibble on an unwary swimmer, and was thus quite well suited to their purpose.

            Even before Cimorene could see the falls, she could hear the rushing water. She let out a long sigh of relief. In a few more minutes Telemain would be back to his normal self and she and Mendanbar could return their full attention to the wedding preparations.

            For the fourth of fifth time since they’d begun their walk, Telemain sidled up to Cimorene, smiling broadly, and oblivious to the scowl on Morwen’s face. “Though I’ve not yet had the chance to visit the Waterfall of Spring firsthand, I’ve read that it has a number of singular properties.”

            “Is silence one of them?” Cimorene said, more sharply than she ought to have, but she was truly at her wit’s end.

            “Not that I’m aware,” Telemain said, without noting her tone. “But the stability of the equinoctial system is maintained by the nereid that apparently inhabits the waterfall.”

            “A nereid,” Cimorene muttered. “Fascinating.”

            She followed Morwen through a clump of gnarled oaks and gasped. “Oh my.” The waterfall was not tall, but it was brilliant in the sunlight, sheets of water streaming down and shattering on the rocks below into a hundred shimmering rainbows. The churning waters spread into a wide pool that gave way to a burbling stream. A series of large flat rocks jutted out of the pool, creating a passageway from one side to the other.

            It was the perfect place to dunk Telemain and finish the spell.

            For a moment Telemain stared at the falls with the sort of awed admiration he’d lately reserved only for Cimorene. He let out a long breath. “The modular resonance of this area is astonishing.”

            Cimorene and Morwen exchanged a glance and a nod. And with that Cimorene hopped onto the nearest stone. The surface was slick and she was grateful for her sturdy boots as she made her way from stone to stone. And, much like a faithful hound, Telemain followed at her heels. He seemed not to notice Morwen at all as she trailed along behind them, looking rather like a thundercloud.

            When she was in the middle of the pool, Cimorene stopped and waited for Telemain to catch up. He hopped from stone to stone and Cimorene’s breath caught when, two stones away, he wobbled and threw out his arms to catch himself. But he got his balance back and hopped onto the neighbouring rock. Which meant she was going to have to push him in herself. She hoped he’d be understanding about it once he was back to his old self.

            “Have you ever seen such an excellent display of hydro-mechanical spellwork, my dear? If I could just get a bit closer I might be able to see the direct influence of the nereid’s magic.”

            Taking a deep breath, Cimorene prepared to give Telemain that closer look he wanted. But just as she raised her hands, she was interrupted by a shout.

            “Halt! King Mendanbar, I challenge you to a duel for the hand of Princess Cimorene. Stand and fight!”

            Cimorene groaned at the sight of a very muddy knight charging out of the forest, sword drawn.

            “Bother,” Morwen muttered. “That would be Sir Caramin?”

            “I’m afraid so,” Cimorene said. “And he’s still convinced Telemain is Mendanbar and that he’s an evil magician.”

            Telemain straightened and hopped onto the wide stone Cimorene was perched on. “I won’t allow any harm to come to you, my dear.”

            Cimorene shot him a withering look. “I am not your dear and I can handle this very well on my own. Besides which, we’re here to rescue you, not the other way around.”

            Telemain’s brow scrunched but he didn’t have time to get the question out before Sir Caramin issued his challenged again. His armour was coated in mud up to his chest and there were bits of vines sticking out of the joints. He’d lost his visor and the tip of his sword appeared to have been broken off somehow. All in all, Caramin looked like he needed rescuing more than any of them.

            Cimorene set her hands on her hips and scowled at the knight. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?”

            He puffed out his chest. “Princess Cimorene, on my honour I promise to have you disenchanted as soon as we get out of this dratted forest.”

            “I’m not one bit enchanted. But now, thanks to you Telemain is.”

            “I am not under an enchantment,” Telemain insisted at the same time as the knight asked, “Who’s Telemain?”

            Morwen took a step forward then. “I think introductions are in order.” She indicated each of them in turn. “This is Princess Cimorene, that is Telemain, and I am Morwen. You, I gather, are Sir Caramin.”

            “Errr, yes,” he said. “The pleasure is mine.” And then he gave himself a shake. “But I was told Princess Cimorene was being held by an evil magician and since you’re a magician–”

            “Ridiculous,” Telemain said.

            Morwen sighed. “He may be stubborn and foolish, but he’s certainly not an _evil_ magician.”

            Cimorene had had enough. Thoroughly exasperated, she drew her magic sword, which she had brought with her–just in case. Its magic assured that its bearer could not be defeated–which wasn’t without loopholes since you could be undefeated and dead at the same time, but it was still a great deal better than a regular sword and had served her well on previous occasions.

            “W–What are you doing?” Caramin stammered, looking more bewildered than ever.

            “I’m answering your duel. After all since I’m the one you want to carry off, I really think I ought to have a say in the matter, don’t you?”

            “I–Yes–No–I mean this simply isn’t the way these things are done.”

            “Bother how things are done,” Cimorene said, brandishing her sword.

            Caramin’s gaze turned to Telemain. “How dare you be so cowardly as to force a princess to fight in your place?”

            A chorus of outraged protests from Telemain, Cimorene, and Morwen, were all cut short as Caramin gave a mighty yell and tossed a handful of orange powder into the air. Immediately, Telemain twisted one of the silver rings on his left hand and spoke a word that sent a chill down Cimorene’s spine, as if she’d stepped into cold water. Magic crackled in the air around them and it was much like what she remembered from her first meeting with Telemain when he’d been shielded by a defensive spell.

            The orange powder hovered in the air for a few seconds, and then tiny tongues of flame began to flicker in the space between Telemain and the knight. At first they were no larger than fireflies but they were growing quickly and soon a curtain of flame danced in the air.

            Morwen eyed the fire and then gave Telemain a nod of approval. “That was a well-timed defense spell.”

            Of course Telemain’s attention remained focussed on Cimorene, his expression one of concern as he looked her up and down. “You’re unharmed, my dear?”

            “For the last time,” Cimorene snarled, “I am not your–”

            Cimorene was interrupted by a sound like a vast river in flood.

            For the duration of Caramin’s latest rescue attempt, Cimorene had all but forgotten the rushing water from the falls behind them. But now the sound was deafening and when she glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide, the waterfall had transformed into a mass of seething, roiling froth. A surprised little “Oh!” escaped her when a head poked out of the falls, appearing to hover in the centre of the angry waters.

            Suspended in the waterfall, was the face of an elderly woman. Piercing blue eyes fixed them beneath a scowling brow. Long locks of seaweed-like hair danced in the water around her head. Her deep blue lips were puckered as if she’d bitten into something very sour.

            “The nereid!” Telemain exclaimed, with obvious glee.

            The nereid’s gaze swept over the scene and then she stuck one wrinkled hand out of the water, palm outward and shouted, “Get off of my lawn!”

            A jet of water shot from her palm blasting the curtain of flame. Of course since Telemain stood directly between her and the magical flames, the water also crashed over him and swept his feet out from under him, carrying him off the wet stone.

            He landed face down in the stream below and did not move.

            “Telemain!” Morwen looked from the prone magician to Cimorene. “Cimorene, can you–”

            Cimorene nodded. “I can handle this. Go help Telemain.”

            The spray of water had washed some of the mud off of Caramin’s armour, making him slightly more presentable. However,  the confused look on his face as his eyes darted between Cimorene’s sword and the nereid (who was still hovering in the waterfall, shaking her fist at them and muttering), was not particularly heroic. Sword still gripped in both hands, she gave him a very stern look. “First you put Telemain under an enchantment and now you try to set him on fire. You’re very ill-mannered, even for a knight.”

            “But this is all so–so–irregular!” he sputtered and then had to duck to avoid what appeared to be a mollusc, which the nereid had tossed at his head.

            Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Cimorene swung her sword at him. It clanged harmlessly off his armour, but, on the slippery stones underfoot, it was just enough to unbalance him and send him reeling into the nereid’s pool.

            Caramin disappeared helmet first into the water. Cimorene was beginning to grow concerned when, several beats later, his head and shoulders burst out of the water. He spit out mouthfuls of water, limbs flailing in all directions. “I can’t swim in my armour!”

            With a sigh, Cimroene sheathed her sword and knelt down next to the pool and held out her hand. “I’ll pull you up.”

            “But you’re a princess. You can’t–” His head disappeared beneath the water for several seconds before he thrashed his way back to the surface again. “You can’t–” he said between gulps of air, “you can’t rescue _me_. It’s supposed–” His head dipped down again and he flailed so that his mouth and nose bobbed back up again. “–to be the other way around.”

            Doing her best to restrain her irritation, Cimorene reached her hand out again. “Well I certainly can’t just  let you drown. Be sensible and take my hand.”

            And finally, he did. She gave a mighty heave and pulled him close enough to the edge of the pond that he could grab at the rocks and, with her help, pull himself up. He lay there panting and flopping about for a minute like a fish washed up on shore.

            When she glanced over her shoulder she was relieved to find that Morwen had managed to fish Telemain out of the stream and get him to his feet. He appeared wobbly as Morwen supported him, but unharmed.

            Turning her attention back to the knight, Cimorene planted her hands on her hips and scowled down at him. “Now that that’s done, I trust you’ll be leaving the Enchanted Forest?”

            One of his gauntlets was missing and a frog had settled on his shoulder as if he were a shiny log. “But I still have to rescue you!”

            “No, you certainly do not. In fact since you’ve been defeated in combat, it’s your duty to leave.”

            “Defeated!” he said with obvious affront, scrabbling on the wet rocks to get to his feet. And failing.

            Cimorene crossed her arms. “Yes, defeated. You issued a challenge. I answered it and knocked you into the pool. And then I had to pull you out. That certainly meets with my definition of defeat.”

            “But you’re a princess. It–it doesn’t count!”

            “Doesn’t count?” She had to restrain the urge to push him back into the water. “Why that is the most–”

            It was perhaps for the best that at that very moment a pop of magic rippled through the area and Mendanbar appeared on the far side of the clearing, holding his magical sword in hand and scanning the area with an intense gaze. His eyes fell on her and she could see the relief that softened his features. “I felt a burst of magic and followed it here. Am I late?” he asked as he hopped from one stone to another until he was by her side.

            She smiled at him. “Only a little.”

            Caramin stared up at Mendanbar who, as always, was dressed plainly, save for the gold circlet perched at a rakish angle on his head. “Who are you?”

            “This,” Cimorene said, “is Mendanbar, King of the Enchanted Forest. Mendanbar, this is Sir Caramin.”

            Mendanbar sheathed his sword but he looked very cross as he inspected the drenched knight. “I don’t appreciate troublemakers in my kingdom. Especially when they try to cast enchantments on my future queen.”

            Caramin looked more confused than ever. “But the wizard said you were an evil magician.”

            Cimorene huffed. “If you’re looking for evil perhaps you should take a closer look at the Society of Wizards. After all, it was Antorell who tricked you in the first place.”

            “I–But–He–” Before he could form a coherent sentence the nereid shouted several choice epithets. This caught Mendanbar’s attention and while he was trying to calm the nereid, Morwen and Telemain finally made their way back up to them.

            Telemain was sopping wet and Morwen’s robes looked heavy with water up to her waist, her sleeves dripping. Telemain seemed to have steadied a bit, though Morwen kept a grip on his elbow to be sure. “What happened?” he said, surveying the scene and looking bewildered.

            “You’ve been under an enchantment for the past day or so,” Morwen told him.

            He looked from Morwen to Cimorene, his brow furrowing. “I have?” He rubbed at his beard. “It’s all very fuzzy.”

            “You have,” Morwen said firmly. “And I advise you that the next time you try to court someone you should avoid doing so in verse.”

            “What?”

            “Telemain,” Mendanbar called, “could you lend a hand for moment?”

            Still looking baffled, he joined Mendanbar in trying to calm the nereid, whose waterfall was not only frothing but also appeared to have begun bubbling like hot soup.

            Cimorene sidled up to Morwen, a tiny smile on her lips as she noted the keen watch her friend kept on Telemain. “No verse. That’s a very good suggestion. Saving yourself future trouble?”

            Morwen adjusted her glasses. “I don’t know what you mean.”

            And while it was Telemain who’d been disenchanted, Cimorene somehow felt there were things that she could see more clearly now.


	4. In Which Apologies and Quests Are Issued With Formality

            Upon returning to the castle, the first order of business (after getting everyone dry again) was deciding what to do with Sir Caramin. Obviously, trying to steal away the future queen of the Enchanted Forest wasn’t something that could go unanswered. As Willin put it, “It would send the wrong message”.

            “Toss him in the moat!” the gargoyle suggested with his usual helpfulness. The assembled group of Mendanbar, Cimorene, Morwen, Telemain, and Willin all glanced up at the contorted wooden features of the gargoyle.

            “He’d drown,” Cimorene said.

            The gargoyle snorted. “So? It would sure send a message.” His beady eyes fixed on Mendanbar. “You don’t want other people putting spells on your queen, do you?”

            Morwen shook her head. “Given that Sir Caramin’s only crime is a lack of sense, I think something more appropriate would be in order.”

            “I was thinking something more along the lines of a quest,” Mendanbar said.

            “Bah. None of you are any fun.”

            Ignoring the gargoyle, Cimorene turned her attention to Mendanbar. “What did you have in mind?”

            “A quest in search of Herman’s boarding school for lost heirs. Herman can explain to him how to recognise a good magician from a evil one and it’ll be good advertising for him, too.” He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

            Cimorene nodded. “I think it will do very nicely.” He looked pleased and she couldn’t help but smile      as, for a moment, their eyes remained locked on each other.

            “Oh _please_ ,” came the scratchy voice from the corner. “Enough with the googley-eyed staring. All this sweet stuff’s going to make everyone’s teeth rot out.”

            “Your teeth are made of wood,” Mendanbar grumbled under his breath.

            She squeezed his arm, but her smile faded as she glanced over to their companions and noted that Telemain looked distinctly uncomfortable. His shoulders were hunched and he kept twisting one of his magic rings in such a way that made her wonder if he was about to transport himself somewhere far, far away. Nor was he meeting anyone’s eyes. He must have begun to remember the past two days.

            “Let’s bring in, Sir Caramin. I suppose,” Mendanbar added, glancing at Willin, “you’ll want me to make it all very official?”

            Willin tugged at his green velvet coat and stood very straight. “Of course, Your Majesty. The situation necessitates it.”

            Mendanbar sighed. “Very well. Bring him in.”

            With a satisfied nod, Willin went to fetch the chastened knight and brought him before Mendanbar. He looked very pale as he stood there in the centre of the study in his newly-cleaned armour. “Your Majesty,” he said with a low bow, “please do allow me to extend my most humble apologies. I’m afraid this has all been a terrible mistake.”

            “I accept your apology,” Mendanbar said with a nod, “but as reparation for your mistake I must issue you a quest.” Caramin straightened, his expression similar to those she’d seen on the faces of knights when Kazul smiled at them. “Seek out Herman and his School for Lost Heirs and learn the difference between good and evil magicians.”

            Caramin sagged with relief. “Oh thank you, Your Majesty. You are most understanding and exceedingly merciful. But umm... how shall I find this school?”

            “Go to Mountains of Morning and just... ask for directions. I’m sure you’ll find someone who knows the way eventually.”

            “Directions?” Caramin repeated.

            “Yes,” Mendanbar said with a nod. “Directions. Willin, would you see him on his way?”

            The elf gave a low bow. “Yes, Your Majesty.” And with that he led the baffled knight out of Mendanbar’s study.

            Mendanbar let out a long breath. “At least that’s over with. Now maybe we can get back to finalizing the wedding plans. Willin made a point of telling me three times this morning that we were behind schedule.”

            The very mention of the wedding filled Cimorene with a bubbly feeling from top to toes. Dear Mendanbar, clever, kind, sensible–and tall to boot! What more could she have asked for?

            She turned as Telemain cleared his throat loudly. “Regarding the wedding...” He stepped forward, not quite meeting their eyes as he glanced from Mendanbar to Cimorene and back again. “I’m sorry about–err–about my behaviour over the past two days. I assure you I would never knowingly interfere with your relationship.”

            “We know that,” Cimorene said, taking Mendanbar’s arm. She remembered what Morwen had said about how differently an evil magician would have behaved, and how the spell had had to thoroughly confuse Telemain in order to compel him to court her.

            “If you’d rather I didn’t attend the wedding I’d understand completely and–”

            Mendanbar raised a hand to stop him. “You’re coming to the wedding and you’re going to be my best man. It’s too late to back out now.”

            “Are you sure–”

            “We’re sure,” Cimorene jumped in.

            Mendanbar nodded. “In fact you’ve done us a great service. After all, it was your presence that spoiled Antorell’s plans. If Sir Caramin had used the spell on Cimorene...” His expression darkened. “That would have been very bad.”

            For a moment Telemain rubbed his beard and appeared to be considering the scenario. “Yes, I see,” he murmured.

            As Telemain was ruminating, Cimorene stole a glance at Morwen only to find her watching Telemain, a little smile tugging at her lips.

            Willin returned and announced that Sir Caramin had set off on his quest. While he was giving a full account of the knight’s departure, Cimorene sidled up to Telemain. “You should probably apologise to Morwen as well,” she whispered.

            Telemain’s brow furrowed. “To... Morwen?”

            “You did cause her a great deal of trouble.”

            “Oh, of course.”

            Having completed his report, Willin gave a little bow and then announced that the cook had prepared lunch if they were inclined to eat. As they filed out of the room, Telemain moved to join Morwen. Cimorene didn’t hear what he said, but Morwen looked quite pleased so whatever it was, it must have been the right thing. Which, given Telemain’s occasional lack of good sense, was a relief.

            With a smile, Mendanbar offered Cimorene his arm and together they headed to the banquet hall for lunch. There were still guest lists to finalize and venues to disenchant, but that seemed like little enough now. Squeezing Mendanbar’s arm, Cimorene smiled, content that things were, once again, just as they should be.

 

**The End**


End file.
